Even When You're Sleeping (Keep Your Eyes Open)
by manicpixiedreamtarantula
Summary: Harry's life at the Royal School for the Blind was good. Then the letters came. Or, the one where Harry is blind. This changes everything (and nothing)
1. The Strange Prank

"I hate Maths." Harry declared as he flopped onto his bed in the dormitory. He heard a whine in response and sat up with a sigh. With a snap of his fingers, there was the sensation of soft fur in his hands and he took care to remove his guide dog's harness. The dog licked his face in thanks and jumped onto the bed with Harry, curling up on his master's pillow.

"Well, of course, _you_ like it, Seymour, you get to sleep under the desk the whole time" Harry grumbled, laying back on the bed. It was stupid, really, that even in the summer, the Royal School For the Blind required that their students do homework three times a week. He already got enough school during the term, and he really didn't understand why he needed it during his summer holiday as well. Still, it'd been a rule for those who lived at the school for as long as he could remember.

In truth, Harry didn't mind it much. It occupied the hottest part of the day when he wouldn't be doing much anyway. For as long as he'd lived there, the summer heat had been an obstacle that Harry was a master at beating. He'd lived at the Royal School for the Blind for five years now, ever since the doctors had declared him completely blind. His first days at the school were in the center of summer when the weather was perfect and the flowers made the air thick with sweet perfume. It was that impression Harry thought of whenever he thought of his school and he decided long ago that he wouldn't want to live anywhere else. People often asked him if he missed having a family, or if he missed his eyesight, and Harry couldn't honestly say he did when it came to either of those things.

He had an aunt and uncle of course, who had taken him in when his parents died in a car crash. But he only saw them once a year at Christmas and didn't think of them much. He vaguely remembered living with Vernon and Petunia Dursley when he was small, but the memories had all blurred together into what Harry privately designated "Before." He didn't care much about what had happened "Before." All he knew is that he lived with them until he was five, then they and a social worker decided it was in the best interest of everyone if Harry went to live at the Royal School. The Dursleys already had one child to deal with, and it was too much of a hassle to deal with a second one, especially one that was blind and not really theirs to begin with. Harry didn't really care one way or another. His aunt and uncle were civil enough during the one time of year he saw them, and Harry was too wrapped up in his life at school to care much about the hows and whys of his living situation.

As for his eyesight, well, from what Harry could remember, he didn't have much of one to begin with. The doctors had called him legally blind. Things were always rather fuzzy and inconsistent anyway, and losing the remainder his eyesight wasn't that much of a big adjustment. He could make out changes in light, and could occasionally see shadows in the right conditions. He functioned just fine with that and didn't really see the point in wishing for more. He had braille and audiobooks to read, computers to do his homework, his cane and guide-dog Seymour to get around. He could make toast and ride a bike and tie a tie. For Harry Potter, the world was an open book waiting to be read.

Besides, it seemed to everyone, that Harry was just _good_ at being blind. Things came easier for him than they did for other people. Harry could never explain how he could pour a cup of tea without slipping a finger over the edge of the cup to check the water line or find that specific green shirt in the back of his closet without having to ask anyone. Harry never tripped over the curb or missed his plate when he served himself dinner. His teachers claimed he was a prodigy in the field of orientation and mobility training. To Harry, it was just a sense he had, something in the back of his mind that made the world make sense.

In short, Harry's life at the Royal School for the Blind was good. He had friends and his dog. The school provided a good education that would eventually lead to a good job and a good life. Eventually, Harry would care about and appreciate things like having a good job and a good life. The future held no surprises and Harry didn't worry about it. There was no need to look beyond the walls of the school, never a desire for a different life. By all accounts, Harry Potter was a happy normal kid.

July was always a slow month at the school. There were only a handful of kids like Harry who lived there year round, leaving the campus absent of its usual chatter and bustle. The warm summer afternoons were sleepy and quiet, and Harry often found himself on days like these out on the grounds, riding his bike down the special bike paths designed for the blind students, or playing with Seymour, or just laying on the grass and enjoying the afternoon.

After completing his summer homework for the day, Harry only designed to lay in his bed for a few moments before venturing out onto the grounds. He decided to keep Seymour off his harness, not really seeing the point in using his guide dog. He could get around campus by memory alone at this point, and he knew there wouldn't be any obstacles in his way out on the lawn.

He brought an old tennis ball with him hoping to get in a few games of fetch with the Seymour. The dog bounced alongside him happily.

As he walked across the grass to his favorite spot, a familiar voice greeted him. "Hullo, Harry," the cheerful voice said.

Harry smiled at the sound of his friend. "Hey, Cath. How's it going?"

Catherine was two years older than Harry and lived in a different building than he did. They had become friends six months before when they both got their guide dogs out of the same litter. Harry had been the youngest one there, and Catherine had taken the younger boy under her wing.

"It's alright. I flunked maths last term, so they're making me do extra work to catch up. Bit bullocks really, but it's fine. How's Seymour?"

"He's good. How's Skywalker?"

"She's good. Bit sleepy so I left her inside today. Mam's looking for you, by the way. You've got a letter."

The idea was preposterous. Who would be sending Harry a letter? The only people he knew outside the school were his aunt and uncle and they would never be dumb enough to send him a letter, would they? If anyone inside school wanted to talk to him, they sent him an email.

"Who sends letters anymore." He joked in response.

"No idea," Catherine said. Harry could hear the shrug in her voice. He shrugged himself.

"Well, thanks. Better go get it before I get too comfortable out here. C'mon Seymour" He tapped Catherine on the shoulder as a way to say goodbye before heading back the way he came. Cool air greeted him as he stepped inside the main doors to his dormitory. "Mam?" He called out. "Cath said there's a letter for me?"

The kind old voice of Mrs. Mammon, the house mother, answered him.

"Yes, a letter came for you this morning while you were in your study session. I think it might be an advertisement of some sort." She told him.

"Well, what does it say?" Harry asked. He climbed up on the couch in front of her desk, crossing his legs expectantly.

"I haven't opened it yet, but the address was very specific that it was yours. Harry J. Potter, The Bed Near the Window, Room 6, First Floor, Perkin's Residential Hall, The Royal School for the Blind, Liverpool."

"That's… creepily specific. Could you read it to me?"

"Of course. 'Dear Mr. Potter, We are pleased to inform you that you've been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.'" Mam laughed, "Oh Harry, I think someone's sent you a prank letter."

"Weird prank," Harry said.

"Do you want to hear the rest of it?"

"No, you can throw it away. It's probably one of those movie ad campaigns or something. I'm gonna go ride my bike I think."

"Alright dear, just be sure you're on time for dinner," Mam told him. "And stay on the path! I don't want you riding into another tree!"

"It was one time! And that was a dare!" Harry protested over his shoulder as he left. He heard Mam start to respond, but he was already out the door. He didn't have time for more warnings or joke letters. He had a summer day to enjoy. By dinnertime, he had forgotten the letter entirely.

The letters kept coming. What was at first a funny joke was now becoming an annoyance. The day after the first letter, Mrs. Mammon had discovered two more in the mailbox. Over the course of a week, the residents of the dormitory were treated to, on average, four letters a day in the mailbox. Each one had the same specific address. Someone very much wanted to get in touch with Harry.

Ten days after the first letter, Harry awoke to find a letter under his pillow. The joke was no longer funny or even annoying. This was downright unsettling. Harry didn't tell anyone except Catherine about the letter under his pillow. The mysterious letters were now becoming the talk of the dorm and he wanted to do all he could to quash the subject. Everyone seemed to want to know who was sending Harry these letters and why. From what he could gather they all said the same thing: We'd like to inform you you've been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Everyone had a guess as to what Hogwarts might be: a new movie, a book, an amusement park, a secret organization, a cult. Catherine had speculated that it was a new superhero team, and they wanted a blind guy on their side. Like Daredevil, she said. Harry didn't know what Hogwarts was and didn't care to speculate. He was more concerned with why they had picked him of all people. It wasn't like Harry was the smartest in his class or the most popular. Sure, everyone seemed to like him well enough and he was the fastest runner in his grade, but other than that there wasn't any reason for someone to target him like this. Harry Potter was just a normal boy.

"Do you think someone's coming to take you away?" Catherine asked seriously when he had told her about the letter under his pillow.

"I don't know. I don't know anyone who would want to." Harry said.

"What if someone really does want to come and take you to this magic school?"

"I don't see why they would. I'm not magic. I'm not special. I'm just Harry."

"You might be a little bit magic. You always were a little bit better at finding your way around than the rest of us," Catherine said quietly. Harry reached out and squeezed her hand.

"Well, if I am magic, and they do want to come take me away from here, they'd have to go through Seymour first. Right buddy?" Harry directed the last part to the dog curled up at his feet. Seymour at that point decided to grace the children with a rather loud fart, sending the two of them into a fit of giggles. Any talk of letters was quickly forgotten by Harry.

It was not, however, forgotten by whoever was sending the letters.

The whole thing came to a head the day before Harry's eleventh birthday. The morning was quiet. Catherine had gone home for the remainder of the summer to be with her parents, and Mam was working quietly at her desk. No letters had arrived for him that morning. Relief poured over him when he heard about the lack of letters. It seemed the mystery, or rather, the ordeal of the letters from nowhere had come to a close.

It was a Saturday, which meant a lazy morning in front of the TV in his pajamas was a perfectly acceptable way to spend the day. Harry splayed out on the floor of the common room in front of the TV. Seymour acted as a pillow for him as he watched rerun after rerun of The Power Rangers. He was halfway through an episode when Mam came into the room.

He could hear the concern in her voice as she delivered the most surprising news Harry had ever received: Harry Potter had a visitor.


	2. The Visitor

A/N: Hello all! I probably should have added this to the first chapter, but I'm so used to posting on ao3 I've forgotten that on this site you have to put the author's note in the text itself (and upload it as a document, but that's a whole other story). In any case, welcome to my somewhat self-indulgent blind!Harry fic. This is really just my attempt to look at what being blind in the HP universe would look like on a day to day basis, especially for someone in the Muggle world who had access to things such as orientation & mobility training, guide dogs, technology, etc. For that reason it may be a bit slow paced. All the stuff about blindness is based upon my extensive research and comes from actual blind people describing their day to day lives. I hope you enjoy!

Harry had run to his room and slipped on his jeans and a shirt before heading down to the parlor where his visitor was waiting. Seymour followed him, although Harry didn't really need it. He had lived in the same room in the same dormitory for the past five years, and taken the same path to the parlor every day for as long as he had been there. It was muscle memory at this point.

"Oh, here's Harry now." Mrs. Mammon said as he stepped into the room. "Harry, this is Professor McGonagall, she'd like to have a word with you."

"Hello, Harry," the other woman said kindly. "Perhaps you'd like to take a seat."

Harry stayed put in his spot at the doorway. "Are you a social worker?" he asked.

"No, Harry, I'm not."

"I never have visitors," Harry told her, the words rolling off his tongue like an accusation.

"Harry… you know better than to speak that way to guests," Mrs. Mammon admonished.

"I'm a friend of your parents, Harry." Professor McGonagall said. The room froze. Slowly, Harry made his way to the couch and sunk down. He could feel Seymour plop down next to his feet.

"My parents are dead," Harry said slowly.

"Yes, they are. A great tragedy."

"How did you know them?"

"I was their teacher at school." Professor McGonagall said. "They were both very bright."

"I'm good at school, mostly," Harry told her. "I'm rubbish at maths, but I'm going to be a lawyer and you don't need maths for that anyway."

He could hear the smile in McGonagall's voice. "Well, Hogwarts doesn't teach math, so I think you'll be pleased. Unless you take Arithmancy in your third year?"

Harry froze. " _You've_ been sending the letters?" he asked. He felt anger bubbling up in him. "That's a right mean joke! Stuffing the mailbox and slipping them under my pillow!"

"Under your _what?_ " Mrs. Mammon cut in sounding horrified, but Harry paid her no mind.

"I'm sorry about the letters, Harry," McGonagall said quickly. "If we don't hear a reply after a while, the-erm- system tends to do whatever to make sure you get them. When we never got a reply, well… We thought it would be best if someone came to check up on you. I must say we were surprised to find you were no longer on Privet Drive."

"I… I haven't lived on Privet Drive in years… Why would I?" Harry said, trying to digest all this woman said.

"How do you know about Harry's family in Surrey?" Mrs. Mammon asked suspiciously. Apparently, any admonishments about manners that were given early regarding the treatment of guests had been promptly forgotten. "Harry's files as a ward of the state are classified."

"I know about Privet Drive because I was there the night he was placed there. The night Lily and James died. We deemed it the safest place for him, all things considering. We never accounted for… well… we never thought a situation would arrive in which Harry would not remain with his relatives." McGonagall said.

Harry took a moment to think about that. "What do you mean? Safest place considering _what_? My parents died in a car crash."

"Oh, Harry…" McGonagall said, and it took much effort for Harry to quash his bristling anger at her pitying tone. "There's so much you don't know."

"What don't I know?!" Harry snapped.

"Harry, your mother and father didn't die in a car crash. They were murdered." McGonagall told him.

Harry's chest suddenly felt hollow. "What?" he whispered.

"Harry… You're a wizard, Harry," McGonagall said.

He looked over in her direction. "If this is your idea of a joke, it's not funny."

"This is not a joke, I promise."

Suddenly, he could feel McGonagall's presence next to him on the couch. She took his hand and pressed something long and thin into it. The energy that rushed through him at that moment was unlike anything he'd ever felt and nothing could compare to the bright colorful spikes that danced before his eyes. It had been so long since he had seen colors that he had forgotten what they looked like. Greens and blues and purples danced around the room. Through them, he could make out the outlines of Professor McGonagall and Mrs. Mammon. The silhouette of the two women was sharp and defined against the bursts of light behind his eyes. He was used to seeing shadows, but this was different, clearer.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph…" He heard Mrs. Mammon whisper.

Harry dropped the stick like it burned. "Holy shit," he said quietly.

"Language," came the immediate response from Mam, but it seemed far off, more like a reflex than an admonishment.

The room fell into a tense silence. The only sound was Seymour's whine as the dog placed his head in Harry's lap. He pet the dog soothingly. After a few moments, he broke the silence.

"I think, it might be best if you told me everything," Harry said quietly.

Professor McGonagall's story was so long and confounded, Harry could scarcely believe it. It seemed too impossible to be true. But he couldn't imagine another explanation other than that this impossible story was the truth. There was no denying what he had felt, what he had _seen_ when McGonagall had given him her wand.

Privately, Harry also admitted the fact that McGonagall's story wouldn't have taken so long if Harry had just, _stopped with all the questions,_ and let her finish. ("But where does the magic come _from_? How does the killing curse _work?_ Why on earth would they name the school _'Hogwarts?!'_ ")

"It seems we'll have a new Ravenclaw by this time next month." McGonagall had told him warmly upon her departure.

Harry wasn't entirely sure what that meant but took it as a compliment all the same. He knew other schools had houses, but the Royal School never quite had enough students to make such a system necessary. McGonagall's depiction of the houses was vague, and after three hours of stories, Harry felt it best to leave the question for another day.

Harry sat on the stairs as McGonagall and Mammon worked out the details of Harry's excursion for new school supplies, listening intently. His head was swimming from all the events of the day. He pressed his head to his knees and felt Seymour's wet nose on his arm. He turned to face the dog.

"Seymour," he said, with a sigh. "Next time someone sends me a letter, do me a favor and eat it."


	3. The Field Trip

A/N: Special thanks to Sarah Artemisia here on ffnet for beta reading. This story is cross-posted on ao3 under the name mallfacee, and it's slightly farther ahead. So if you want to read chapter four before tomorrow, it's up there.

Harry Potter was not pacing, thank you very much. He was just walking. Back and forth across the room. Over and over again. But pacing? Definitely not.

But he had to admit that he was nervous. The adults had been inside talking for almost 30 minutes now. He could just imagine it now, Mrs. Mammon coming out and telling him, _sorry, but you can't go to Hogwarts._

Professor McGonagall had arrived promptly at nine in the morning, just as she promised she would. Unfortunately, Shelly had also shown up. Shelly had been his social worker ever since the NHS contacted her about needing an advocate for a blind child. She was young and energetic, with a kind voice. Harry liked her immensely, but he also knew Shelly could be strict, especially when it came to him.

He had been confused when she arrived until Mrs. Mammon had clicked her tongue

"Now Harry," she had said. "For all intents and purposes, Shelly is your legal guardian. We can't just let somebody up and take you without her permission."

"Will I still be able to go to Hogwarts?"

"That's up to Shelly, dear."

Harry had decidedly not been satisfied with his answer. And so here he was, not pacing, waiting for the adults to decide his fate. He clicked at his watch again.

"Nine. Thirty-two. AM." a robotic voice intoned. 32 minutes. What could they possibly have to talk about for 32 minutes?

Finally, the door swung open and the adults walked out. Harry nearly jumped at the sound of the voices.

"Well Harry, it looks like everything is settled for Professor McGonagall to take you for your school things." Mrs. Mammon said.

"Really?" Harry said barely containing his excitement.

"Really. You'll be starting at your new school a month from today." Shelly said. Harry ran up to her and gave her a tight hug.

"Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou!" Harry said. Shelly hugged him back running a hand through his hair. She knelt down to his level.

"Now Harry, what are the rules again?" Shelly asked.

Harry sighed. "Keep Seymour with me, no wandering off, ask an adult if I need help, ask before I touch things." He intoned in a bored voice.

"Good boy," Shelly said. Harry could hear the smile in her voice. "I know you're always good, but it's my duty as a grown-up adult person to say it: be good for Professor McGonagall, my favorite boy."

Harry grinned. "Yes, my favorite grown-up adult person." Harry intoned back. Shelly placed a kiss on his forehead, and he could smell her citrus shampoo. Mrs. Mammon once said that she thought Shelly was a bit too familiar with her charges, but Harry didn't care. He loved Shelly.

He put on Seymour's harness, only half listening to Shelly explain sighted guide to Professor McGonagall.

"All ready," Harry said. He reached out and felt as the professor placed his hand on the crux of her elbow. Soon Harry was sitting in the back of a taxi with Seymour at his feet. The driver had grumbled about allowing a dog in his car until he had seen the service animal vest.

"Er… Professor?" Harry asked after a while. "What exactly did you tell Shelly?"

"I told her the truth: In your parents will they had specified that you would attend a school for gifted children in Scotland and that the tuition had already been paid from your school trust," McGonagall said simply. Harry nodded thoughtfully and let the conversation fall back into silence.

It was Professor McGonagall who broke it next: "Do you like where you live, Harry?"

Harry grinned. "Oh yeah! It's brilliant. Well, I don't like homework much, but my friends are great and Mrs. Mammon and the other staff take really good care of us. If we're good, Mam will let us watch extra TV."

"...Watch?" McGonagall asked, confused. Harry rolled his eyes.

"Well, listen. But it sounds silly to say it like that. It's just easier to say look, watch, see, stuff like that."

"Ah," McGonagall said, before moving on. "And do you miss your relatives at all?"

Harry shrugged. "Not really. I see them once a year at Christmas, and they're alright. Shelly and Mrs. Mammon are my family more than anything."

"You seem to really like Shelly," McGonagall noted, her voice calculating. Harry beamed at her.

"Yeah, she's the best! Don't tell Mrs. Mammon, but when Shelly takes me for doctors visits and things like that, she'll let us stop for ice cream before I've even had dinner. She says it's cause I'm her favorite, but really it's just cause we were each other's firsts." Harry said matter of factly.

"Firsts?"

"Yeah. I was her first case as a social worker, and she was my first advocate. Now she just handles my day to day stuff, and I have another legal advocate, but I still think she's the best." Harry explained.

"It sounds very complex, Harry. Perhaps sometime you could explain it to me." McGonagall said.

"Oh, yeah," Harry said, and then launched into an explanation about legal advocates, social workers, doctors, and many other things Professor McGonagall didn't understand. The Muggle legal system was an enigma to most wizards, evidently. Harry didn't blame her; the system confused him too and he was a part of it.

Finally, the two had reached their destination. McGonagall guided him along, explaining that they were now entering a place called the Leaky Cauldron and that many people would recognize him. Harry stepped into the dark room and had to take a moment to orient himself.

Harry froze for a moment, hearing the people all around them shuffling around. The only light he could vaguely make out came from tiny candles on the tables nearest to him. He could make out the flicker, but they weren't bright enough for Harry's eyes to catch any sort of shadow. It was a jarring effect for him. He was used to the bright electric lights of the school, and classrooms with wide open windows that let in the light. At least then he could vaguely make out where the lights were, and by extension, where things were in relation to the lights. He had been out of the school before of course, but that had always been to doctors offices or other appointments. The lack of light perception was disconcerting, to say the least.

He squeezed McGonagall's arm a little more tightly, scared of being separated. The feeling left a pit in his stomach. Usually, a sighted guide was just a formality; he could get around just fine with Seymour and his own limited light perception. But this was new and scary. He was essentially relying on a stranger. He felt Seymour brush against his legs as he walked and calmed a bit. He could do this.

"Hello Professor McGonagall," someone called out to Harry's left. "Anything for you?"

"Not today. Mr. Potter and I are doing his school shopping." Professor McGonagall said. The room went silent. Somehow, this made being in the dark pub worse.

"My god," someone said. "It's Harry Potter."

And suddenly the bar seemed to erupt with noise. There were people all over him, pushing each other trying to get a glimpse of Harry. The feeling terrified him. He stumbled back, falling back into more people behind him. My god, where had they come from. He reached for Seymour and Professor McGonagall, hoping anyone could make the onslaught stop.

Then Seymour did the one thing Harry had never heard him do. The dog barked loudly. Slowly he heard people stumble away. Apparently, the fear of being bitten by a big Bernese Mountain dog that came up to Harry's chest and was heavier than he was outweighed the need to get close to the boy. Harry threaded his hands into the dog's fur, thankful for the reprieve from the crowd. Someone had once told Harry that Seymour was intimidating with his black fur and big teeth, but Harry had never quite believed it. Now he was glad that it was true.

"Mr. Potter wishes to get his school supplies in peace," McGonagall told the crowd. Harry squeezed her arm appreciatively and allowed her to lead him back to the back of the shop. He heard the sound of tapping on the wall, before being met with what sounded like crumbling stone. Without thinking he reached his hand out just in time to feel the brick wall in front of him disassembling itself. It was as if the pub had turned into a busy street corner, the sounds and smells assaulting Harry's senses all at once.

"Woah!" Harry said. "Did you do that?"

"I did Mr. Potter. Welcome to Diagon Alley." The Professor led him further into the alley. On all sides, he could hear people chatting and selling their wares. The alley smelled like pumpkin spices and something vaguely smoky, like incense. McGonagall pulled him along, and it took all of Harry's self-control not to let go and wander off. He wanted to go everywhere, discover everything there was to know about this place.

The air around them changed as McGonagall led him into a brightly lit room. He could hear the way voices echoed all around them, listening as all the people walked past them. Harry thought that it must have been a big room. It surprised him to hear voices that seemed to be coming from beneath him. The people surrounding him couldn't be taller than Seymour based on where their voices were coming from.

"Where are we?" Harry asked absentmindedly. There were some metallic things that were hanging in the air above them. The way the light bounced off the metal made it look like fairy lights dancing around the room above him.

"We're in Gringotts bank. We need to collect money from your vault." McGonagall explained.

Harry lowered his voice a touch. "Who are all the short people?"

"Short people? Do you mean the goblins, Harry?"

"Goblins? Wicked." Harry grinned. "What about all the light things that are in the air?"

"There are candlesticks above us to light the room. How did you know it was there?"

"Light perception," Harry said, unable to take his eyes off the candlesticks. "When the light hits the metal I can see the reflection."

"I thought you were completely blind, Mr. Potter," Harry could hear the frown in her voice. He couldn't tell if it was confusion or anger. It almost felt like an accusation. Cath had once told him that there were people who wouldn't believe he was blind.

" _Cause your eyes look normal and you don't wear dark glasses, and you can tell where lights are." Cath had explained._

" _Why should that matter? I still can't see nothing." Harry asked confused._

" _Anything, Harry. Can't see anything. Anyway, sighted people think all blind people have to look a certain way and act a certain way, else they think you're faking it. My old primary school teacher did."_

" _That's mad," Harry said._

Harry hadn't quite believed her then. But the pit feeling in his stomach made him realize that Catherine was right.

"I am," Harry said quietly. "I'm what they call 'totally blind.' But I've never heard of anyone who's just in complete darkness. Most of us have some remaining vision left. So I can see where lights are, and if it's really bright I can sometimes see shadows. That's it though."

"I see," Professor McGonagall said. Harry couldn't quite place her tone. For a brief moment, Harry wished that he could just see her face, get some idea of what the professor was thinking. But before Harry could say anything else, McGonagall ushered him along.

Harry was soon introduced to a goblin named Griphook and made his way to a cool dark corridor. McGonagall helped him into the small car that felt a bit like a rollercoaster car. Seymour had tried to follow him, but Griphook had insisted that the dog stay where he was. Harry was apprehensive about that, but after several assurances that Seymour would be perfectly fine, he got in without complaint. It was pitch black, except for the lantern that sat next to Griphook. The air smelled wet and damp down here. He was about to ask where they were, but the car shot forward, squashing all conversation. It was exhilarating. By the time the car had stopped, Harry was grinning ear to ear.

"Can we do that again?!" Harry asked excitedly.

"On our way back, Mr. Potter," McGonagall said, sounding a bit weary. Harry nodded.

"Where are we?"

"This is your vault."

That idea floored him. He had never considered that he had his own vault in a bank somewhere. He had never thought about money at all. Harry stepped inside the dark room and felt his foot kick something. Metal coins clattered to the ground around him.

"Can I touch this stuff?" Harry asked. At McGonagall's encouragement, Harry knelt down and pulled the metal coins into his hands. "Wow. There's a lot here."

"This is your school trust," McGonagall explained. "When you come of age, you will gain access to the main Potter vaults." She quickly explained the money and let him feel out the different coins. It was easier to distinguish between wizard money than it was muggle money. Harry liked the idea that he could go shopping all by himself, and not need anyone to tell him which bill was which.

They climbed back into the cart and were carried off to another area. When the cart had stopped again, Harry moved to get out but was stopped by Professor McGonagall. This time she went into the vault alone. She was only gone for a matter of minutes before she was seated next to him, and before Harry knew it they were back at the surface.

Once they had collected Seymour and left the bank, Professor McGonagall took him to several other stores for school supplies. The apothecary had been his favorite so far, with its quiet interior and strange smells. He hadn't been allowed to touch anything in there, though. Next was the bookstore. Harry felt a little disappointed at the fact that they carried nothing in Braille or audio, and worse, seemed to have no idea where to get those types of books. Harry lamented having to buy textbooks that he couldn't read, but McGonagall had insisted that she would work out a solution.

At their next stop, McGonagall deposited him at a robe shop called Madam Malkin's with instructions to wait for her there when he was finished; she had her own errands to run.

Inside the shop, Harry let the young assistant guide him up on the step. He snapped his fingers to order Seymour to sit at his feet out of the way.

"Why do you have a dog with you?" A boy next to him asked.

"Seymour's a guide dog. I'm blind so he acts as my eyes. He's trained to stop me before I bump into things, help me cross the street, let me know when there's a step or something." Harry explained.

"I've never seen a dog who can do all that," the boy said skeptically.

"That's why this is a £30,000 dog compared to your pet shop animal," Harry said.

"Are you insulting my pets?" the boy asked, almost affronted. Harry rolled his eyes.

"Not your dog in particular. Just general, dogs."

"Oh." There was a pause. "I don't have a dog."

The two boys lapsed into an awkward silence.

"Are you going to Hogwarts too?" Harry asked.

"Yeah. I'm going to be in Slytherin. I can't imagine being in any other house. I'd just leave if I were in Hufflepuff, wouldn't you?" the boy said.

"I don't really care," Harry replied with a shrug. "I mean all it is is a place to sleep, right?"

"Well, that's cause you can't see how awful Hufflepuff's are." The boy said. "Wait… I didn't mean to…"

But Harry cut the boy off with a surprised laugh. There was an awkward moment until the other boy was laughing too. Harry grinned over at the other boy.

"I'm Harry," he said, holding out his hand in the direction of the boy. The boy took his hand and shook it.

"Draco Malfoy." The boy said, and Harry could hear the grin in his voice.

"You know, most sighted people won't make blind jokes," Harry said. "It's nice to meet someone who doesn't care."

"Thanks, I think," Draco said. "I think my father is coming to collect me soon. I can see him through the window. Here, what's your last name? I can write you… er…. I mean…"

"Potter. Harry Potter. And don't worry, I have someone to read my letters." Harry assured him.

"My God… you… you're…"

"Blind? Yeah, I thought we went over that already."

"Famous!" Draco blurted. "You're the Boy-Who-Lived."

"Oh… Yeah… forgot about that." Harry paused for a moment then frowned. "You still want to be friends, don't you?"

"Of course I do!" Draco said. "How many people can say that they're friends with…" Harry's face fell slightly, realizing where this was going. Draco didn't want to be friends with _him_ , he wanted to be friends with the Boy-Who-Lived.

"Say that they're friends with someone who has a wicked cool dog follow them everywhere." Draco finished. Harry grinned.

Just then the bell above the shop door jingled and the door swung open. The sounds of a cane accompanied the footsteps of the man who had just entered. Was he blind too, Harry wondered?

"Have you finished getting your robes Draco?" The man, who Harry assumed was Draco's father said.

"Yes, Father." Draco paused for a moment. "Father, I'd like to introduce you to Harry Potter. He will be starting at Hogwarts with me in the Fall."

Harry couldn't figure out why Draco's tone had changed. He was so… Formal. It seemed a far cry from the boy he had befriended almost moments before.

"Mr. Potter. So the rumors are true. I am Lucius Malfoy."

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Malfoy," Harry said, sticking out his hand. As Lucius Malfoy shook his hand, he felt Seymour stand up beside him. That was odd. It seemed Mr. Malfoy had noticed the action too.

"And who is your… _friend_ ," Malfoy said.

"Er, Seymour's a guide dog," Harry said. "I'm completely blind, so Seymour acts as my eyes."

"Fascinating…" Malfoy said. Draco cut in.

"Potter's dog is worth over 6,000 Galleons," Draco said pompously. "Expertly trained."

"Is that so?" Malfoy asked.

"Yes, sir. Seymour… it costs a lot of money to train a guide dog," Harry said. He didn't like this conversation. Draco sounded so different. There was so much tension in the room. It was all Harry could do to keep from shifting uncomfortably.

"Only the best for the Boy-Who-Lived, eh?" Malfoy said. Harry was about to respond, but Malfoy cut him off. "Well, we best be off. Draco, come along. A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Potter."

"You too, sir." Harry said, but before he finished, the bell of the shop tinkled and the Malfoys were gone. Harry stood still for a moment, trying to process all that had just happened. Why had Draco gone from his friend to some sort of weird posturing at the drop of a hat?

Harry could only come to one conclusion: wizards were weird.


	4. The Wand

A/N: Here is Chapter 4! This story is officially caught up to where it is on ao3. I hope you enjoy!

McGonagall came to collect him shortly after. She did something with her wand that caused a purple light to appear, before the beam vanished somewhere next to him.

"What was that?" Harry asked.

"A shrinking charm," McGonagall told him. "To make it easier to carry your purchases."

Harry nodded. He was thankful that McGonagall was so patient with all his questions.

"Do all spells have different colors?" he asked, curious.

"You can see color?" McGonagall responded. It seemed as though she didn't know what to make of him. Maybe he was teaching her too, Harry thought.

"Not usually. I only vaguely remembered what colors looked like before. But when I held your wand, I could see all the colors of the sparks. It was weird. Like… Like all of the names of the colors rushing out all at once. Sort of like when you remember someone's name after it's been on the tip of your tongue for a while. It was nice," Harry said fondly. He blushed slightly. "Anyway, I think it's just when it's magic. Like a spell or something."

"Very interesting Mr. Potter," McGonagall said. "Come it is time to get your own wand."

At this Harry let go of Professor McGonagall's arm, rushing forward with Seymour until he remembered that he didn't actually know where he was going and that he wasn't supposed to let go of his guide or run-off. He waited until he felt McGonagall's presence next to him.

"Sorry. Got excited." Harry said. He raised his arm and let McGonagall resume her guidance.

"I would be concerned if you weren't excited, Mr. Potter," McGonagall said, and Harry could hear the smile in her voice. She led him to the wand shop.

As they entered the door Harry froze. The shop was _humming._ He could feel the vibrations around him, sounding almost like the whirring of machines. Instinctively, he knew where everything was in the room. He felt tears well up in his eyes. It was almost overwhelming. He walked over to what he thought might be the counter, reaching out and touching it. The wood was practically singing with magic. Suddenly Harry was six years old again, sitting at the piano with an old teacher, fascinated by the sounds all the keys made. Low dissonant notes, high bell-like tinkling. The shop, the whole world around him, was playing him a symphony.

"I thought I'd be seeing you soon, Mr. Potter," a voice said. Harry jumped, looking up where the voice came from. "You look just like your father. Except for your eyes. You have your mother's eyes."

Harry wanted to say something sarcastic, but there was a lump in his throat. There was something about this man with the soft voice and the singing shop.

"I remember selling them their wands like it was yesterday," the man continued in his soft silky voice. "So much talent…"

"Who are you?" Harry asked softly.

"I am Mr. Ollivander," the man said. "Now, which is your wand arm?"

Harry bit his lip. "I don't know," Harry said. "I mean I'm pretty ambidextrous I think."

"Give me your right, then," Ollivander said, and Harry held it out. There were a few brief moments where all Harry could hear was the buzzing of what he assumed was a tape measure flying about him. The world buzzed around him. Harry had never heard a place sound so alive.

"Well, let's see then," Ollivander said, although Harry could barely hear him over the din of the magic surrounding him. He felt Ollivander press a wand into his hand. He waved it, only to catch a dim light shoot from the end, and then the sound of something falling and breaking.

"Oops," Harry said, guiltily. "I hope that wasn't anything valuable."

"Nonsense my boy, not your fault. Just need to find the right wand…" Ollivander's voice trailed off. Harry got the impression that Ollivander was talking to himself rather than to him. The wandmaker snatched the wand from him and replaced it with another. Harry gave the new wand a wave.

This one didn't so much as give off a light, or at least if it did, it was one too dim for Harry to see. The only indication Harry had that the wand had worked was the low humming sound, and what sounded like hundreds of boxes shooting off a shelf and crashing to the floor. Harry winced.

"Oh dear…" Ollivander said. Harry couldn't see the damage, but he was certain that Ollivander's words had to be the understatement of the century. He saw a light come from Ollivander's wand, and the shelves seemed to right themselves.

"I wonder…" Ollivander said, wandering off. He returned with yet another wand. "Holly and phoenix feather. 11 inches." Harry gripped this wand firmly and was pleasantly surprised to see bright silver and gold sparks shooting out of his wand. The air around him hummed louder now. Everything felt electrified and static like if he reached out and touched anything, it would shock him. He grinned widely.

"This one," he said decidedly. "It's this one. Brilliant."

"Curious… Very curious…" Ollivander said. Harry's breath caught in his throat. Could Ollivander hear it too?

"Do… Do they sing for you too?" Harry asked, cautiously.

There was a brief tense moment in the room. All of the air stood still as if the magic was waiting for the answer.

"You can hear the magic, Mr. Potter?" Ollivander asked, shocked. Harry just nodded wordlessly. "That is a very rare talent," Ollivander continued. "It's been a long time since I've met anyone who could do such a thing."

He could feel Ollivander's hands close to his eyes, the shadow of his fingers creating a slight shadow. "Though I suppose… With your… unique circumstances, I shouldn't be surprised. Yes… I suspect you'll go onto great things. As for the rest… well, I'm sure when the time comes you'll be able to hear it."

Harry nodded solemnly. Ollivander squeezed Harry's hand for a moment, the two of them both clutching the wand. It lasted just a second before Ollivander stepped back and the tension in the room disappeared. Harry let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

Harry paid for his wand and let Ollivander box it up. Or rather, that had been the plan. He paid for his wand and placed it on the counter for Ollivander to box up. But as soon as the wood left his fingertips, the sound in the room dimmed. Harry snatched back up quickly, clutching it to his chest. Being able to hear the magic around him wasn't the same as having sight, but it allowed him a sense of peace and freedom that he hadn't had before. For a moment he imagined a world where it could just be him and Seymour. A world where he could go where he pleased without relying on a sighted guide. He couldn't give up that world now that he had it.

"Is there a way I could keep it with me?" He asked Ollivander. "Like put it in my pocket or something?"

Ollivander moved away from him for a moment, and Harry heard him rustling through the back. He came back and gently took Harry's left arm.

"This is a wand holster," Ollivander explained, carefully attaching something leather to Harry's forearm. "It will let you keep your wand on you at all times. A bit unusual for someone your age, but, under the circumstances, understandable."

"How much?" Harry asked. Ollivander gave him a price, and Harry didn't hesitate to put 11 Galleons on the counter. It was a lot, he reckoned, but worth it.

He stepped out of the shop, feeling lighter somehow. The air felt crisper, sharper somehow. He could hear the magic sing through it, like music they were playing just for him. He pressed his arm to his chest, feeling the pressure of the wand on his skin. There was a distinct feeling that something was different.

Harry grinned, carding his other hand through Seymour's hair. There was a new world waiting for him. He was ready to seize it.


End file.
